Crumbling
by HiddenAssasin
Summary: Regret had never burned so deeply in your heart than now. You realised it was never worth it. It shouldn't have been an option. This pain, this regret, this guilt, it-it was all too much and it hurt so fucking much. A tear just slides its way down your cheek as you hopelessly pray to the God you never believed in until now. While crumbling down.
1. Crumbling

The sad thing about seeing someone at their best times, alongside their worst times, was witnessing the eventual breakdown and crumbling of the essence of man within that very person.

Their mind would heave it's final breaths, trying to breathe through the hellish nightmares, the visions they could not control and the thoughts that invaded their very senses—and did they not say that your own senses could deceive one?

When their own body fights something that doesn't even exist to make itself feel safe. When it freezes up, tenses and begins pumping adrenaline like during the heat of battle only for you to see that there really was nothing there in the first place. And the only thing you can do is let them go through this phrase. This time of breakdown and destruction of the mind. What else could one do at this point?

You were once during the prime time of this very man, where they smiled, they laughed and they loved and now—now, you're at their worst. They do not smile, they put up an act. They do not laugh, they get angry. They do not love, they hate themselves more. What does one do when they witness such a tragic downfall of a very person?

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

Since that's what we always do.

Watch and watch as it happens. And help after it's all went messy and wrong and then the blood and that knife and they cut and then stab and then they're on the floor, drowning in their own blood and you don't know what to do so you shout and scream and call for help and it arrives quickly and people rush and no one has words to speak and it all goes so fast.

But what does it matter?

The deed has already been done.

They've left the world in a manner no one close to them would have expected. In a pool of their own blood. Killed by themselves.

Or from the demons within them. The voices that whispered these ideas of death, suffering and pain and in pure desperation to escape the insanity that reigned their mind; they gave in.

They stopped fighting against this foreign power that wanted to invade their very essence. This hellish part of them that was trying to end the suffering it had caused itself through doubt and temptation.

_You are pathetic._

_You let them die, what a good fucking friend._

_She never cared about you, you really think you're worth anyone's time?_

_I assure you your own family wish for you to die._

_You were a mistake._

And it worked. With every phrase, every word spoken, it chipped away at what it meant to be human—to be sane—and crumbled whatever made this man. Broke him down bit by bit until he was nothing but a shell of what he once was.

Some people never saw it occur. Maybe you hadn't and if you couldn't tell when one the closest people to you fell to bits and crumbled, were you really their friend? How could one not see the self-destruction of their own kind?

The saddest thing was that it was by himself. He had led himself to his own death because of the nightmares that tainted his sleep, or the blackouts which he couldn't control, or the flashbacks which made him lose sight of reality and be pulled into war again. Every second of his life had been bathed in pain and it was what he grew up with and it finally corrupted him.

It made him blind to all the positives of life and made him fall into a web of lies. Made him bitter. Angry. Self-hating.

And the ironic bit was that the goodness was still there within him. Surviving. Gasping for life as his selflessness stopped him from lashing out, or even telling anyone of his problems within himself.

You saw it but you never said a word. It wasn't your place to. They never confided in you so why go to them. Why bother you would selfishly think?

He let it out on himself. Cuts, distractions, training—anything to forget and ignore the insanity and to make him seem normal. The burden was his, and his only and not for anyone else to share.

Or maybe you were just ignorant to it. Trying to avoid what your mind was so nagging was the reality. And so you believed every white lie they told, excuse they formed or reason they coughed up just so your ignorance was intact and you were swept in bliss.

He's already caused so many problems to those around him, why make it worse, his goodwill thought.

_You were at fault for her death._

_The bridge toppled onto your friend because of you._

_Is that how you honour a fallen friend? Disgusting.._

_Don't make them suffer anymore. Keep to yourself._

Or so he thought. But it was the monster inside him drowning the goodness in deceptive thoughts. Grabbing it by the throat and choking it of life and the sad part was; the goodness could never die.

No matter how hard the monstrosity fought, it lived on in some form inside him and persevered to live because it could never go. One could crush it, beat it, burn it; but it would always come back.

It would never have the power to do anything but deep down it resides there, within them, ready to flourish at the right moment.

Or in this case, fail them the most.

See, when you're so focused on surviving you lose focus of the world around you and that's what the light within him did. It lost focus and got overshadowed within days and that's when it finally had dominance.

Their mind was struggling against itself and all they could do was let it happen since they were almost powerless against it. It told him lies and warped his view on himself and reality. His sight was blinded.

By nothing but himself.

And you?

You didn't fully understand what it was that was changing what was once your friend. Turning them from a positive, outgoing and kind-hearted soul to a cold and distant vessel of the original extroverted teenager.

So you just watched.

Watched until it all started toppling down within them.

Crumbling within him until nothing remained but the ruins of the past.

And in a way it was ironic.

The person who told you that it would be okay. That life would get better. That there is always hope.

Was the one to be torn down by the world without any mercy and ripped in two.

They were the one to comfort the ones around them in distress. They were the ones to smile and pat others on the shoulder and tell them life would be better. They were the ones people went to with issues and problems they couldn't handle themselves.

But you could say it worked. He did help them overcome their problems yet he still fell.

Fell from the one way street he walked upon.

Did anyone ever return the favour?

Did anyone ever ask how they were?

Did anyone ever leave the door open for talking?

No, no and no.

It's hard to stay positive and optimistic when life looks so bleak and comes out even plainer when no one is there to support you. When no one is there to be a foundation to lean on because that's something no one acknowledged or believed to exist.

Them, needing a pillar?

Good joke! They help everyone and smile and laugh and cry and advise and have the best life a man could ask for.

They're _happy._

And yet they still left the world.

The happiest ones are usually the ones withholding the most pain as they continued on with the same repetitive process within their mind which was eroding then slowly, day by day.

Sadly, the one thing no soul seems to comprehend is that mental illnesses don't discriminate.

They come, they take over, and their only job is to destroy.

At least with the physical illnesses; you can see the deterioration occur and someone will notice it, allowing you to get help for it.

They don't usually destroy your mind, and alter what the world looks like. Fill your head with thoughts it would never have imagined just the week before. Or make it suffocating to even breathe.

Literally, they could happen, sure, but at least stopping these diseases were easy and done within days for many; and they were affected by factors.

If you're healthy. If you're happy. If you're eating well.

Not with mental illnesses.

They don't favour one or the other because they simply invade anyone's mind it preyed on, ready to turn it into ruins of its past.

You could have your whole life ahead of you, be homeless, be richer than anyone could imagine, a bully, a happily married man or independent woman and your life could go from flourishing to crumbling down with a snap of life's fingers.

That's all it takes. That _snap._

And everything comes down.

It happens day by day, turning your perspective of the physical world around you into something else entirely.

You can't control your own emotions anymore. You can't muster the willpower or confidence to fight back like you thought you had. You can't smile and be optimistic like the year before.

You can't even hold power over your _own mind._

Does one understand how utterly terrifying that can become?

If you don't, then who does?

Nothing is what it once was. The PTSD, the depression, the bi-polarity, all of these, they destroy you starting with everything you love.

The games you once enjoyed hold no pleasure. Hobbies you once had feel tiring. Lying down in your bed where you only succumb to the thoughts crushes all your friendships and social life. Living your daily routine feels like an absolute chore—from eating, showering, talking, walking or even to just go to the bathroom.

You begin over or under eating as your appetite dips miles from what it once was. You lash out so much easier to the ones you love and can't help it. Relationships you held are being sabotaged by your erratic behaviour. Your mind works slower and everything seems so much effortful to do, even answer those questions so you choose to drown it all.

Ignore it, stay silent and sleep it away.

Gritting your teeth, you attempt to breathe and go out for a walk, hit the gym, make plans and socialise and get _out._

But they never work out, all it does is make it all worse.

So you don't know what to do. You try so many options but what you don't realise is that they only make it all worse for you, since you never had a choice to begin with in what you do.

It tells you to give it up, to lie in bed, to lie, to just ignore those tasks and you try it all and you eventually just drown helplessly in a cycle of sleep and distractions with no actual pleasure,

and nothing ever changes.

_Nothing._

It just continues to go downhill, spiralling helplessly out of control.

Then in the final stage, you are truly convinced that it was right all along and you are far from broken.

You are in shambles of who you used to be.

So the only thing you know how to do is think.

Everything is bland. You pulled away from all the people you've held close because you wanted to _protect _them or yourself, and left old activities as they now held no meaning.

And no one said a thing because you lied to them about what's really happening behind the scenes, behind that plastic of a _mask._

You were fine, happy, great even like _always_ to everyone.

When someone sometimes did ask you what was wrong, to try something, or to do this and that and just _be happy—_

—you threw the phone across the room and it shattered into fragments and your ownself blinked in the shards, while you stared emptily at it with eyes devoid of life.

It's no surprise when you stop answering the calls and they slowly wonder what's wrong with you.

When they finally start caring, but by then it's too late.

Where have you been? What's wrong, are you alright? Are you okay? I'm here for you.

_Here for you._

_Are they fucking serious? I've been breaking down and no one could stay with me. No one. They never could just ask me how I was, or just say a simple hello daily; and they think that their empty words would just magically make me feel better._

_Actions speak louder than words they say._

Then as quick as it happens your mind changes gears.

_But… I can't make them worry. I'm useless. I haven't called my own parents and told them anything. I lie in bed all day and waste the days I have. If I could give my life to someone who was actually worth it unlike me,_

_...I gladly would._

So you finally let it free.

Pulling the pen and pad, you wrote down any last regrets and scribbled and finally cried as your tear stained the paper and you couldn't stop it anymore. You found the rope and the stool and tied it up and closed your eyes and held the tears while you felt the coldness of the noose wrap around your throat.

You go over your life one last time and finalise it's not worth living, _it never was._

With widened arms, opened eyes and a final deep breath.

You jumped.

_SNAP!_

Regret had never burned so deeply that day in the final dying heaves of goodness within his heart as the final moments of light left his eyes.

You realised it was never worth it; suicide was never the way to go. It should never have been an option. This pain, this regret, this guilt, it-it was all too much and it hurt so _fucking much. _You should have talked about it.

To a friend, to family, to _anyone_ because you let so many people down that day. You should never had let it won.

Maybe no one you loved may have listened but there were good souls, like the one you held, that wouldn't have even minded you telling them your entire life story; everyone has a shoulder to cry on, maybe next to you or across the country.

You should always fight, fight on and be stronger than it because that's what humans are known for. Resilience, and if there is one thing _anyone _should know, is that you would have made it eventually with the right help.

_It wasn't ever worth it. _

A tear slides it's way down their pale cheek as their eyes tightened.

But it was already over; they _had _won, so you decided to finish it off; praying to the God you had never believed in since the start for a second chance at the same time.

_Come on, and end me, _you had said, _while you came—_

—_c ru m b lin g down._


	2. Note

Hey people firstly,, to answer your question Askepott420, I'm not sure yet; it may most likely remain a one shot unless I can think of a way of adding another chapter. I did write this over a period of months.

Anyway, I made this story for those ones out there struggling mentally—be it with depression, personal issues, bipolarity, ADHD, eating disorders, anxiety, loss among so many other reasons, disorders and causes—to let you know that you're not alone. There may be someone suffering less or more than any of you but trust me in this, that all of you are worth looking out for and bringing back up and better again, and deserve that chance of being happy again.

Hurting yourself is never an option. Don't ever try it. You can never take the pain back you bring to those you love and even _if_ that is no one, the officers who find you and those silent classmates who remembered you will feel something deep down. You can never take back suicide, so instead find someone to speak to. To relate to.

To a member of family. To a friend. To a therapist. To someone on the internet scattered through forums or blogs or whatever it may be like me and you. There is someone ready to listen to you, just take that step. I know how hard and daunting it can really seem but trust me, once you take it it's a much nicer feeling than before to have it off your chest.

On a final note, I ask that anyone who reads this kindly leave a review, whether they liked it or not and why, just so I can improve and if you'd like to see another part to this; because reviews are what fuels us writers a lot so it'd be really great to see some. Thanks for those who have already left some.

I give you all my good wishes, and I am out.

Take care people.


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